


The Butter Bandit

by Airplanesandcookies (Mosgirllee)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, Jack still dresses like a bandit, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosgirllee/pseuds/Airplanesandcookies





	The Butter Bandit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peeps-the-writer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=peeps-the-writer).



Any other time, Jack would appreciate the privacy and serenity that came from a thick falling curtain of rain. But at this moment, he’s exhausted and merely resigned to getting soaked on the run from his car to the grocery store entrance. 

He took a moment to savor the warmth of his car’s heated seats as the rain, muted, battered at the roof. The day had been brutally long - a PT session at 9am, then practice, team lunch, a few brief moments at home to nap, before heading back to the rink for a tough home game against the Schooners. Even after all that, he still had to field invasive interviews post game, cycling to get the acid out his muscles and cool down, another massage, only to get home and realize that he had no eggs or even milk for a bowl or three of cereal. He could have ordered a grocery or dinner delivery, but that would have taken so much longer than him just doing it himself. 

Jack rolled his neck, pulled his snapback down over his brow, unlocked his door and promised himself that a plate of scrambled eggs was worth all of this, when his passenger door swung open and a very wet man hopped into the passenger seat. 

“Shitty, you are a lifesaver! I would never have made it all the way home in this. I can’t swim that far!” 

The thing about being a professional hockey player, it is Jack’s job to recover faster than the other guy, which is what probably saves Jack from an early heart attack and gives him space to recognize that the drenched intruder is 1) unfairly attractive even with his blond hair plastered over his face and a thin linen button down shirt translucent over his skin and 2) most likely harmless given that he’s clearly not hiding anything. 

Jack even had a slow-motion moment to wonder, if this guy, as completely random and utterly unlikely as it was, was a puck bunny with a proposition. 

His teammates all had wild stories of puck bunnies trying to sneak into their hotel rooms or private cars. But he hadn’t heard of an unreasonable hot guy in a see-through shirt just hopping into a parked car. 

“I’m a shitty lifesaver?” Jack asked, still computing the scenarios in which he would say ‘yes’. 

The wet stranger snapped his gaze up from a pile of cloth grocery bags at his feet, blinking owlishly large brown eyes at Jack.

With nothing better to say, Jack chose, “It is a rough night for a swim.”

His stranger exploded out of his seat with a flood of apologies, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir! I thought that you were my friend Shitty and I just jumped into your car, I swear to god I’m not a creep, this was just a mistake.” And he was off, just as quick as he came, back into the pouring rain. 

The heavy fall of rain immediately obscured his path. Curious, Jack jumped out of his car and looked around, but he couldn’t see any sign of the guy. Merely ready to shrug it off as one of the weirdest encounters this year at least, Jack turned to lock the door when he noticed that the guy had accidentally left one of his cloth grocery bags. 

With equal measures of curiosity and paranoia (because Jack didn’t think that he would be blindsided by a pretty face, but it HAD been a really long day), Jack reached over to the passenger side seat, the rain, sluicing down his back, and picked up the bag and found what had to be ten pounds of butter.

Jack completed his shopping, returned home, and finally (FINALLY) made the best damn plate of eggs he’s ever made all while completely encompassed in a cloud of questions. 

_/\\_  
“So, a fan hopped into your car and gave you butter?” Marty asked, frowning down at a very simple butter cookie that Jack brought in to practice.  
.  
“No. Some guy hopped in my car. I think he thought I was someone else. The butter was an accident.”

“As far as a pick-up lines go…” Thirdy began, in-between bites of his cookie.

Jack shook his head, “I don’t think he was a fan. I think he was just some guy taking advantage of the buy-one-get-one free sale at the grocery store.” 

“But what I don’t understand,” Tater said, mouth full, “is why did you keep the butter?”

Fair question. Jack walked his teammates through the boring rationale that the store wouldn’t take the butter back without a receipt and they wouldn’t store it in case somebody came back for it. And being practical, Jack wasn’t going to just throw the butter away, so he left a note with the manager, ‘I took your butter. If you want it back or a refund, leave your number with the store. I’ll check back in a week.”

Thirdy laughed so suddenly, he snorted his water. “Man, that note sounds ominous as hell.” He mumbled over the lip of his cup, “If you want the butter back, meet me in a dark alley around midnight.”

Tater licked his fingers, “So, you are a butter bandit. You dress like one.”  
“No.” Jack stated as he packed up the rest of his cookies. He did not look down at his yellow shoes. This wasn’t complicated. “I’m trying to compensate him for the butter. It was a simple mistake, they guy shouldn’t lose out because of it.”

And if he got to see the guy again, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But he wasn’t going to say that part out loud to these guys. 

But Tater had already zeroed in on the chink in Jack’s armor. “For shame, Jack. Holding butter hostage so that you can see that poor man again. He may have been baking for his grandmother or a classroom of children. You think of that? No, because you are a Butter Bandit. You steal his dreams.” 

Jack threw up his hands while his teammates laughed at him. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

A chorus of “NO” followed him out the door. 

And true to their word, they didn’t let up during practice, the team lunch, and the chirping even showed up in a ‘Meet the Falconers’ segment that PR kept insisting that Jack participate in. 

Tater held up his camera with his long arm and aimed it at Jack who was cutting his stick. “Jack needs a nickname, something that will stick. Maybe…” 

He trailed off, and Thirdy picked it back up again, face completely innocent as he continued to tape his stick. “He’s so slick on the ice. Smooth even. Smooth like butter.”

Marty poked his head into the camera’s frame. “It’s true, and the way that he steals the puck on the ice, he’s like a bandit, he’s so fast. 

The video cut off to the sounds of three grown men cracking up while Jack looked at the camera stone faced and finished checking his equipment.

_/\\_  
Evenings off were so rare, that Jack appropriately hoarded and cherished them with a mild glee. After he begged off of a team dinner, he hit the grocery store to purchase a few snacks, some more eggs, and some flour for crepes. And, perhaps, maybe the butter guy had stopped in and left a message and Jack could at least satisfy his curiosity and cross off that lingering to-do item on his mental list. 

With his hat pulled down low, he pushed his cart around the perimeter of the grocery store, finally ducking into the baking isle to replenish his stash of flour, when he saw a shock of familiar blond hair crouched down looking at the two different brands of finishing sugar. He was squatting down flat on his flip-flop covered feet in a pair of joggers and a grey tank top with Samwell writes in red across his shoulders. He hadn’t looked up yet, and so took a moment to confirm his initial assessment of the guy. He WAS unfairly attractive and Jack was staring. When the butter guy stood up, Jack shook himself from his stupor and in a fit of action he couldn’t even begin to explain to himself, fled the isle. Without his cart. 

Jack rubbed his hands over his face and gave himself a stern talking to. The bottles of artificial pancake syrup even appeared to be judging him. When he finally had enough of being a coward, he walked back into the baking isle with renewed determination to wrap up this entire awkward exchange. 

But of course the butter guy and his cart were gone. 

Jack shuffled over to his shopping cart and grabbed a sack of flour before realizing that he had the wrong cart. It looked similar, yogurt, a package from the butcher’s counter, whole milk and eggs, but he hadn’t picked up blueberries, pickles or any wine. Momentarily confused, Jack startled when he heard a very quiet clearing of a throat behind him. 

“Um, excuse me. But I think I stole your cart?”

Jack turned around and locked eyes with the brown eyes he had last seen in his car a week prior. 

“I think I have your nine pounds of your butter.” 

He was delighted in seeing the pink rush into the guy’s face from his neck and ears before he responded. “Hey, wait, I thought I had 10 pounds.”

“I used a pound - finders fee.” Jack said easily despite his sweaty palms.

They stood frozen, looking at each other, before Jack held out his hand, “I’m Jack. I apparently have a car similar to one of your friends?”

His hand was met with a warm firm handshake and a self depreciating smile. “I’m Eric, and I need to look before I just hop into a stranger’s vehicle.”

“Probably for the best, eh? Not everyone is as nice as I am.”

Jack earned a full smile in return and it felt like a goal. 

“Umm, I can return your butter. And your shopping sack - I mean, I don’t have it all right now. It’s in my refrigerator at home.” 

Eric nodded. “Well, let me make it up to you. Can I buy your a burger as a thank you? You could have just tossed it or donated it. It was kind of you to try and get it back to me. Most people don’t usually need that much butter.”

The question must have flitted across his face, because Eric merely laughed. “I work over at the University in the anthropology department, and I bake cupcakes, cookies and pies on the side. I had a party order for that Sunday.”

“And I stole your butter?”

Eric waved his hand, “No! I broke into your car, dropped my butter and then it served me right that I had to go across town to buy 10 more pounds.”

Feeling bolder than he had all week, Jack removed his hat and pushed his hair back. “You know, if you don’t mind, I had all this extra butter I didn’t know what to do with, so I tried to make some cookies but they were kinda dry. It sounds like you might be able to help me perfect my recipe, yeah?”

Jack watched as Eric preened for a second, his eyes darting up at Jack’s face, trying to read something that Jack really hoped was he clearly projecting back at him. Eric, straightening his shirt, “I think I can do that.”

Jack beamed, “Okay, let’s wrap up here and grab that burger? Do you need a ride?”

Eric, ears still pink, “Yeah, I typically walk to the store. I don’t have a car right now.”

“That’s fine. Plus you are already familiar with mine.”

Eric groaned. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Just like you did to my car last week.” Jack chirped with a huge smile as Eric slapped his arm playfully. 

“Ugh, you think you are so funny don’t you.”

And Jack didn’t know about that, but he did think he was pretty lucky.


End file.
